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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27015055">uzumaki</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donkey/pseuds/Donkey'>Donkey</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>vana writes shitty mcyt fics [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, God Complex, Inferiority Complex, Manberg, Pogtopia, Villain Wilbur Soot, no beta we die like wilbur in my last fic, tagging as teen just because of. gestures to wilbur, unedited, wilbur spirals</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:28:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,264</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27015055</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donkey/pseuds/Donkey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>wilbur spirals.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>vana writes shitty mcyt fics [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1987258</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>73</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>uzumaki</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>wilbur slammed his hands down onto his desk. his long, matted hair bounced with his movements, and his eyes narrowed at the pain in his wrists. today was another one of the days that he couldn’t help but feel... something. a feeling that he couldn’t shake. it wasn’t happiness, it wasn’t sadness, and it sure as hell wasn’t joy; it was just a </span>
  <em>
    <span>feeling</span>
  </em>
  <span>. one of the countless he couldn’t place. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>he had just lost yet another argument with tommy. in front of everybody, no less. everyone had witnessed how he failed to get his point across. how the - the president of the rebellion couldn’t explain a simple plan that involved them winning. how he couldn’t make them understand how simple kidnapping tubbo would be. it’s not like he’d run away, anyway. he wanted to be here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>tommy said it was immoral. that tubbo wanted to be where he was respected, and he only got that there — how he was scared of wilbur. wilbur didn’t understand how that was possible, if he was being honest. he was nothing but nice and kind to tubbo, save for when the two argued over the current situation, and that says a lot. he’s always nice to people. that’s his whole brand, y’know? tommy’s loud, techno’s reserved, wilbur’s kind. it’s their whole thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>… the way they looked at him after he left said otherwise, and wilbur </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> that. he knew they didn’t trust him anymore. knew that they didn’t respect him anymore. that - that they thought tommy was better. that </span>
  <em>
    <span>tommy</span>
  </em>
  <span> would lead them to greatness. </span>
  <em>
    <span>that wilbur would be left to rot, just like l’manberg.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>manberg. whatever. it’s not like it mattered, anyway. it was forgotten. the name was taboo. everyone had already dropped all the memories that came along with it, leaving the once beautiful nation to the broken rulers of today. they </span>
  <em>
    <span>left</span>
  </em>
  <span> everything they worked for to schlatt and his - his goons</span>
  <em>
    <span>. his friends</span>
  </em>
  <span>. they were all happy with it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>but he wasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>. it was becoming obvious to everyone. all of his thoughts were consumed with taking back what was once theirs — what was </span>
  <em>
    <span>rightfully</span>
  </em>
  <span> theirs, while everyone else only wanted to move on; make progress where they could, come back to manberg in the future. tommy made that painfully clear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>wilbur frowns, the lines around his mouth turning down with misguided disgust. </span>
  <em>
    <span>tommy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. his brother. the person who everyone trusted instead of him. the person who would try to overthrow him in the near future, just you wait, and completely and utterly succeed. he would be thrown to the wolves, told to fend for himself in an unforgiving, horrifying world. he could see it now: he would be captured, given to his former best friend, and thrown in prison — schlatt wouldn’t kill him, no. he was too smart for that. he would keep him there, believing that his family would come looking for him. he’d be his wild card.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>he doesn’t think he can handle that. he’s not someone’s - someone’s plot twist. he wasn’t something to be used. he was a person. he was wilbur, the man who fought and won a war. the man who built a country from the ground up. he was a president. a king. a </span>
  <em>
    <span>god</span>
  </em>
  <span>. he started everything. he ended everything. he was too good to be used as a pawn. he was too good to be pitied. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>his fingers creep around the edges of the desk, holding tight. maybe that’s why they haven’t overthrown him yet. </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe</span>
  </em>
  <span> that’s why, if he was found, schlatt wouldn’t kill him. why he’s gotten this far. everyone </span>
  <em>
    <span>pitied</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. they all looked down at him, thinking they’re better than the </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> man who managed to overthrow a literal god. looked down on the eldest brother in the most powerful family in the nation. looked down on - on </span>
  <em>
    <span>wilbur</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>he could feel angry tears well up in his eyes. he could feel his breathing get faster. he could feel that </span>
  <em>
    <span>deep pit</span>
  </em>
  <span> of a feeling in his chest again. it made him mad. it made him angry. it made him want to break something. to destroy something. to - to blow something up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>to blow manberg to </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> pieces. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>he had been thinking about it for weeks now. months, even. the urge to destroy the very thing pogtopia doesn’t care about. the thing that they claimed didn’t matter. the thing that they’d mourn the </span>
  <em>
    <span>second</span>
  </em>
  <span> the bombs go off. it would prove wilbur’s point. it would show them all. it would - would prove that he’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>worthless</span>
  </em>
  <span>. that he’s not disgusting. that he doesn’t need to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>pitied</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>his shaky hands quickly move to the drawer beneath the flat surface, ripping it open and grabbing the yellow paper. all he could think about was how great these plans would be. how this would show them all, and stop any shitty plan tommy would make to – </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>he heard a knock on the door. it was tommy, surely. he couldn’t think of anyone else who would come by minutes after an especially bad argument, save for someone who wanted to apologise. wilbur looked at the quickly written scribble of a plan. he wondered what he would think. what he would say.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>the knock came again. “wilbur?” he cringed at the sound of tommy’s voice. he hated how he sounded so genuinely concerned. he hated how naïve tommy was. how - how the apology would likely be because of tommy pitying him. how it was never about actually being sorry. how he was stupid enough to think that adults actually did whatever this was. did tommy think he was an adult? did tommy consider himself mentally mature? physically mature? “wilbur, are you in there?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>the knob turned in sync with wilbur’s head. he knew how this went. he knew tommy would come in, apologise as if he were walking on eggshells, and then expect a hug from wilbur. a hug that he didn’t want to give. a hug that tommy didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserve</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>the door opened, and there tommy was. he was in his armor, a sword on his hilt, and a worried look on his face. wilbur’s nose nearly turned up in disgust. “wilbur,” he started. wilbur made sure to cover up the paper he had been writing on. perhaps it’d be better to save that for another day. “it was unfair of me to call you out in front of everyone. you’re the boss. you’re - you’re the president, and i overstepped. i’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>a long silence followed his apology. wilbur didn’t process it at first. he didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to. he wanted to sit here and wallow, letting his anger fester for a little while. he wanted to finish these plans and </span>
  <em>
    <span>prove</span>
  </em>
  <span> everything. he wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrify</span>
  </em>
  <span> them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>tommy’s hands began to play with each other as his eyes trailed to his brother. he saw the papers wilbur was standing in front of — he saw the white knuckles; the tear-ridden eyes; the pissed beyond belief look wilbur was giving him. he saw his mouth move slightly, then all at once, and he heard the laugh the elder gave out. the horrific, boisterous laugh that sounded way more like a cackle. tommy didn’t know if he should join in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“tommy, boy,” wilbur said. tommy watched his entire body turn towards him with purpose. he watched as wilbur, slowly but carefully, began moving towards him. watched as he placed a hand on his shoulder. “i know the perfect way for you to make it up to me, if you’re willing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>and all tommy could do was nod. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>not me projecting nuh uh. if u like my work, my tumblr is technoblading !! i write shitty angst :]</p></blockquote></div></div>
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